


It's Only Natural

by beejohnlocked



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-31 01:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beejohnlocked/pseuds/beejohnlocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John crushes on Sherlock.  Sherlock deduces John.  They make out.  That's essentially all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Only Natural

There he was again. Jesus.

John clutched his books to his chest and ducked around the corner of the hallway, breathing hard. This was his typical reaction every time he laid his eyes on the new boy.

Sherlock Holmes was his name. John couldn't suppress a laugh when Mike first mentioned him to John two weeks earlier. It sounded ridiculously intense and dramatic. Like he should be wearing a cape and fighting crime as opposed to using his genius-level intelligence to publicly shame his teachers. Which he did, often.

At the time Mike mentioned him, John hadn't yet seen Sherlock. He'd simply heard whispers and grumblings in the hallways. "New kid", "arsehole", "weirdo", "freak", "looks like an alien", "hair", "eyes", "lips", "scarf", "coat", and "voice" were always part of the conversation.

John had missed the first two days back after Christmas break due to caring for his way-too-young-to-be-an-alcoholic-but-still-was-an-alcoholic sister. He felt fully out of the loop upon his return, especially given the sheer amount of interest in this Sherlock character.

No amount of hearsay, speculation, or gossip could prepare John Watson for the moment he laid eyes upon the boy. It was after History, John was joking with Molly about Mr. Baker's flamboyant lectures.

"The man belongs in a soap opera," Molly laughed.

"Right?" John joined along with Molly's laughter. "It's like his life is-" John had stopped, unable to finish his thought.

"Like his life is what?" Molly supplied helpfully.

John didn't respond. He'd always considered a person's attention to be like a fan of sunbeams; stretching over the horizon, touching everything in its wake. It may focus here or there, but the focus itself was always fickle. School was a point of the beam, along with romance, family, music, friends, and whatever else a person's attention happened upon.

This was demonstrably not like that.

While Molly looked at him, uncomprehending, John's attention was elsewhere. His sunbeams didn't spread over his immediate area, no; his attention was fixed upon a specific point.

John's thoughts boiled down to blunt statements of fact:  
Tall (oh my God, so tall)  
Hair (sweet inky curls that I would die to touch)  
Lips (are they as soft as they look?)  
Eyes (cerulean dreams, please fix them upon me).  
It was only natural that John paid attention.

John blushed furiously as Molly gave him an odd look.

"...John?"

He pulled his eyes away from Sherlock with immense effort.

"Yes?"

Molly's gaze moved back and forth between John and the new boy...SHERLOCK. John thought of the name now and nearly shuddered.

"You okay?"

John gave a self-deprecating laugh and was about to respond when he heard someone else cut in. A voice, deeper than a 16-year old's should be, cutting but not overtly rude, spoke bluntly:

"He's worried about his sister. She's a bit older, but he feels as though she's younger because he has always cared for her as though she is. She's an addict, most likely an alcoholic. He is also concerned with his classes this term. Advanced biology is difficult for anyone, and he's not the smartest in the class. He would prefer to study with a partner, but he's afraid that the female partner he's working with is getting the wrong idea."

John turned his head slowly, certain that Sherlock was behind him but terrified to confirm his suspicions. He was right. The boy made of ocean eyes, Cupid's bow lips, and insane curls was standing behind John, a small smirk on his beautiful face.

The air was sucked out of John's chest. It was sudden, as though he'd been punched in the gut.

"H-how d-did you know…-?"

"I didn't know, I SAW," The beautiful, ethereal being stated. "You carry advanced Bio textbooks in your arms, but you're abnormally hunched when you hold them, which says that you're nervous about the class itself. I know you have a study partner because of the time you've spent in the student lounge in our dorm the past few days. But I have also noticed the distance you try to keep from your partner. That says to me that she's interested and you are not. I know about your sister because you were late coming back for the term. There are many reasons for that to happen, but people treated you gingerly when you returned, which meant there was something personal about your absence. Balance of probability says it's a problem with a family member. Mike mentioned "Harriet" to you the day you returned, which says to me you have a sister, because it's clearly a close person in your family. If it were a parent, Mike would've said "your mum" or "your dad". During the same conversation he asked you to go to a party and you seemed particularly interested on whether alcohol would be available. That means that your sister is involved with that particular substance."

John's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. He longed to tell Sherlock how amazing his deductions were, but he found himself unable to say anything.

Sherlock's eyes fixed upon John's in that moment. My God, they looked like the sky before a storm.

Without another word, Sherlock ducked by John and Molly and he continued down the hallway. John was still stuck, mouth open, afraid to speak, afraid to NOT speak.

Molly rescued him. "Apparently, he's always like that. At least, that's what Mike said."

John's saucer eyes bore through Molly, unseeing.

*****

That was two weeks ago. Since then, John had been surreptitiously stalking Sherlock. He had no classes with the boy, but the hallways were filled with him between subjects.

John didn't know what to do with himself. He had found other boys attractive before, during rugby particularly, but it was always a sort of detached observation. An acknowledgement of someone's attractiveness independent of actually being attracted to them. But Sherlock...he was unlike any person John had known.

He would hear complaints about the boy's deductions in other classes and respond with a flushed smile. He would hear someone call Sherlock a freak and be filled with the urge to punch them. If only he could find it in him to TALK to the boy!

John's opportunity came that very day, two weeks after the term began. He'd had his usual reaction, turning beet red from head to toe and hiding behind the corner of the hallway.

But today, he heard footsteps. Light footsteps, almost dancing, growing closer to him. Before John could run away, Sherlock rounded the hallway comer and locked eyes with him.

John's mouth moved aimlessly.

"I want to smoke, but I need a bodyguard" Sherlock stated. "I've accidentally made enemies and I need someone around to be sure I'm not beaten."

"...Kay." Jesus, John,  
he chastised himself. Words are your friend!

John followed Sherlock in a fog, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It didn't.

Behind the school's main building, Sherlock took a cigarette from his pack and put it to his lips. His eyes slid to John and he smirked. "You watch me a lot."

John's stomach was like a washing machine, flipping over onto itself.

"What of it? You're interesting," he said defensively, trying his damnedest to remain unaffected. "I...I like you," he added lamely.

Sherlock glanced at John sharply. "No one likes me," Sherlock said simply. He said it as though he couldn't care less, but his body language begged to differ. He was stiff and awkward. His curls fell over the side of his face; he took his unlit cigarette from his mouth and turned it over and over in his fingers. "Everyone exists to either be afraid of me or make fun of me," Sherlock focused on the ground. His gorgeous lips pursed sadly.

"Not me," John breathed.

Sherlock's eyes shot up at John. Their gazes locked and held, as though there were a physical hold between them.

John's stomach was somewhere within the vicinity of the Earth's core. He could feel his body trembling, his heart pounding, and his brain overthinking, but he could not, for the life of him, take his eyes from Sherlock's.

"You play rugby," Sherlock stated.

"Yesss...." John's hands clenched, itching to touch Sherlock.

"You have had girlfriends."

"Again, yes."

"You wouldn't know what the hell to do with a man."

"..."

Sherlock looked as though he were in pain. "Why?" he said, his shoulders shrugging fruitlessly. "Why do you like me?"

John didn't have an answer. Not in words. All he knew was what he felt. He closed the distance between him and Sherlock carefully. There were only a few steps between them, but every inch felt like crossing a mile.

John went slowly. He inched forward, his body shaking. Sherlock's eyes widened and his unlit cigarette fell from his mouth.

John was eternally grateful for this as he placed his hands on either side of Sherlock's face. Those eyes were endless, a teal sea of uncertainty, of unknowing. The confidence that John had heard of or thought was there vanished. It boiled down to those questioning eyes. Those lips, too-plump-to-be-legal, parted for him. That hair...GOD, that hair. Frizzed out with excitement...arousal? The curls just begging to be tugged.

"John?..."

Sherlock didn't sound like "Sherlock" anymore. His voice was uncertain, hoarse, and needy.

John's eyes tracked from Sherlock's chest to those eyes, slowly. John drank it all in.

Then he closed the distance. He heard the small gasp from Sherlock when their lips touched. Oh god, Sherlock was such a phony, wasn't he? He knew everything about people factually, but had NO personal experience to back it up.

But that was okay. God, it was SO okay. John didn't have much experience himself. He had made out with three girls and nothing else. But compared to Sherlock, he felt extremely experienced. Because it became clear the moment John's lips touched Sherlock's, that the other boy had NO experience.

And that was just WONDERFUL.

But before John could really react, Sherlock pulled away.

"No...we're at school."

"School is over, and we're outside," John rationalized, desperate to have Sherlock's lips on his again.

Sherlock chuckled in only the way he could, John was certain.

"We're in an open area. Coach Foster has a back room by her practice area. None of the cheerleaders go there," Sherlock gave a wink.

John didn't know whether to be turned on by the wink itself or laugh at the fact that Sherlock employed it.

"Okay..."

John could do nothing but ogle Sherlock's arse as he was led back inside to an equipment room behind a small gym the cheerleaders used for practice.

It didn't much matter. The second they were there, behind the closed door, John kissed Sherlock again. God, those lips. They were obscenely soft, and John wanted more. He wanted to TASTE this man.

John put his hands on either side of  
Sherlock's face and ran his tongue along the seam of Sherlock's lips. That incredible mouth opened, and John licked into it. Sherlock made a soft sound of acquiescence.

Yes. Yes. Fuck yes.

John's heart pumped his affirmation. Sherlock's did too.

When they parted, John needed to catch his breath.  
"Dinner?" Sherlock questioned, almost shyly.

Oh GOD, yes," John responded.


End file.
